Ashes
by withoutfaith
Summary: Evan Rosier realizes the truth.  Part of the Brothers In Arms series.


Ashes

Author: withoutfaith

Note: Yes, the verb tenses are confused in places, and no, it doesn't bother me much. That's how I roll, in all my unbeta'd glory.

Summary: Evan Rosier realizes the truth.

Evan woke with a start. His flat was utterly silent. Even the typical street sounds were gone. It was a bright, clear morning in the middle of an otherwise dark, damp December. Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling window across from him and he realized he'd left the drapes open. Then again, he hadn't meant to fall asleep. There was a crick in his neck from the awkward position of his spine and he groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. The room spun. He held a hand up to cover his eyes.

Something was wrong.

Shuffling slowly to the window, Evan tried to make sense of his muddled thoughts. It was as though he'd been drinking heavily, but it was more likely because he hadn't slept for three nights. The war was and being fought in every corner of the wizarding world. For so many years, he'd believed he was on the right side. Letting muggles marry into magical families was putting everything he cared for in danger. If the Ministry had its way, the muggles would know about everything. Witches and wizards would be captured and studied like rats in a laboratory, or worse, killed. The little experience he'd had with muggles in the past painted them as a bigoted lot – just like what the Order of the Phoenix thought of the Death Eaters.

He knew – had known from the beginning – that the things the Dark Lord commanded them to do were wrong. Any human being with half a soul would know that. And there was the problem: Regulus burst in yesterday going on about something that sounded impossible, something about splitting souls and immortality and their Master.

Naturally, Evan didn't believe him. At least not at first. More likely that his best friend had been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Regulus' eyes were wild and he moved as if possessed. He twitched at the slightest sounds, but by the end of the night he was calmer and Evan was the one twitching where he sat on his couch, starting wordlessly at his friend. The story went that Voldemort had discovered how to attain eternal life, the true purpose of his life's actions that he hadn't stooped to share with his followers. This was done by committing murder – splitting the soul with an act of horrible violence and funneling the sliver of his existence into something inanimate. Regulus claimed that it was done already, that the newly imbued object was hidden away somewhere known only to the Dark Lord…_and Regulus_. Evan asked, but his friend wouldn't say. Instead, that half-crazed look was back in his eyes and he talked of destroying the evil thing.

_The blinkers have fallen away, Evan_, Regulus said. _He's not out for the glory of the wizarding world, he's out for his own ends and them alone. It's wrong! No man should live forever. Only tyrants and mad men would desire such a thing, and he's not mad. The Dark Lord is willing to go to any lengths to get what he wants, but I'm done. I'm done, Evan. _

In the end, nothing that was said could convince Regulus to give up his quest. When words wouldn't work, Evan tried physically restraining him. It was as good as suicide for Regulus to think he could thwart the Master's plans, whatever they were. Those who played heroes often wound up dead, and Evan didn't want to see that happen to the only true friend he had. There was no soothing the impassioned and Regulus disapparated, not to be seen or heard from since.

After owling Mrs. Black and then Severus by turns, in the early hours of the morning, it seemed that Evan had finally fallen asleep. It was dreamless and restless and when he woke, the world seemed changed. The taste of ash lingered in his mouth. All the fervor from last night was gone. There was a languidness to the air, but Evan fought it and suddenly he had to know.

Without changing or combing his hair or caring one whit what he might look like, he disapparated, appearing in the small park across from the Black residence on Grimmauld Place. His back was to the house, his gaze fixed on the gold-dappled shrubbery and grasses. Here the noises were louder, the sounds of automobiles and people and animals drowning out the pounding of his blood in his ears and a tiny voice in the back of his head that was telling him Regulus was right. That they'd all been fools to give themselves over to a will so dark, no matter the promised reward. When he turned around, his heart sank like a stone.

There was a black wreath on the door of Number 12. If he listened more closely, he would hear a woman screaming, the tell of a mother grieving as no other over the loss of a beloved child. And so, that was it. No candle left burning in the window for a son that might yet come home. No windows or doors thrown open wide to receive him. There would be no grave to adorn with flowers, no tomb at which to pay respects. None would know of his sacrifice, save one. For Regulus Black, the fight was over.

For Even Rosier, the end was coming.


End file.
